


Private Lessons (George Weasley x Reader)

by weekdayworld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekdayworld/pseuds/weekdayworld
Summary: As it turns out having a Quidditch player for a boyfriend has its own perks.
Relationships: George Weasley/Reader, George Weasley/You
Kudos: 149





	Private Lessons (George Weasley x Reader)

“So, as a Beater, you are both the offense and the defense?” you said, looking up at George for reassurance. 

“Right,” he said, flipping the page of the Quidditch rulebook that rested between the both of you, “ideally, we knock someone off their broom.” In the little time you had been dating George, you had made a concerted effort to learn the rules of the sport he loved.

“It all seems a bit violent to me,” you commented, your distaste for the sport interlaced in your tone. 

“That’s fair, but save your final judgement till after you see a real match,” he said. “And if that doesn’t change your mind, wait till you see me in uniform.”

“Nothing seduces me like fifteen pounds of protective pads,” you quipped. 

“Just you wait,” he said, leaning in to kiss you softly on the lips.

“Fraternizing with the enemy are we now,” Fred said in mock disdain sliding in next to the both of you on the bench while eyeing the Ravenclaw crest on your robe. “You’re smarter than you look,” he continued, looking at George.

“I look exactly like you,” his twin retorted. 

“How unfortunate for me.” 

You were used to the twins’ banter and often had the final say in it. “After looking at the last few match statistics it seems to me that George is the better Beater.” 

Fred scoffed at this, “Blatant favoritism right there that is.” 

“Some call it love Fred, maybe you’ll experience it someday,” his twin continued. 

The older Weasley twin rolled his eyes. “Oliver reserved the Quidditch pitch tomorrow at seven for one more training session before the match on Saturday,” he said, changing the subject. 

George nodded in understanding at his twin before turning his body to face you. “Want to come?” he asked earnestly, face aglow. 

“Me?” you questioned. “Is that even allowed?”

Fred made a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue. “Oliver is not going to like that…”

Ignoring his twin, George answered your question: “It is if he wants me to show up to the match on Saturday.” Though George said this line jokingly, you knew the threat was real. “The rules of Quidditch are better learned in real time than read about anyways,” your boyfriend said in his most persuasive tone.

“I find that hard to believe,” you said, thumbing through the pages of the Quidditch rulebook. 

“Ravenclaws,” Fred said in an exasperated tone now focusing on the plate of food that was in front of him. 

“I want you to come,” George said tenderly. 

As soon as the words left his mouth you had made up your mind to watch him train tomorrow morning. If something was important to him, even if that something was Quidditch, it instantly became important to you. 

“I’ll come.” 

“Only if you want to though,” George quickly followed. 

“I want to,” you assured him. 

A smile overtook his face making his eyes crinkle at their outer corners. “It’s settled then, Fred and I will meet you outside Ravenclaw Tower tomorrow at, say, six-thirty.”

Fred turned to face both of you. “Speak for yourself lover boy, Ravenclaw Tower is on the opposite side of the castle from Gryffindor. I’ll get my steps in on my own time.”

“I thought I was your friend,” you countered. 

“You were, but I cannot overlook your bad taste in men,” Fred said in such a matter-of-fact tone that it sent the three of you into a laughing fit. 

-

You stood outside Ravenclaw Tower, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. Outside, the morning fog obscured the grounds from your view. You heard footsteps approaching, just as George rounded the corner. He was dressed in his full Quidditch uniform and spun around once to showcase it before closing the gap between the two of you with a light kiss on your cheek. 

“Good morning,” he said softly. You hummed in acknowledgement. 

As you made your way to the front entrance of Hogwarts, the castle was beginning to wake up. The oil painted knight on your right side was brushing her horse while the woman of another portrait was straightening her hair. 

George was carrying his broomstick at an upright angle in his right hand while his bat rested in his left as you descended the staircase. 

“Do you want me to carry one?” you asked. 

“No, I’m used to their weight at this point, but do you want to know how they feel?”

Considering that this might be your only chance to examine a Beater’s bat up close you nodded. 

“You’re going to want to use both hands,” George warned before extending the bat outwards to you. If he was managing it with one hand, so could you. The moment George let go after you had grasped the bat one-handed your entire upper body bent towards the ground. Stunned by the weight of the bat a mild curse slipped from your mouth. George looked on with an I-warned-you look. 

“How much does this weigh?!” you exclaimed. 

“Licensed Beater’s Bats are all sixty-five kilograms of pure iron,” he replied as if it were common knowledge. “Enchanted, however, they’re about one kilogram. They’re enchanted to ensure Beaters can hit Bludgers without breaking their bats while still being able to lift them,” he quickly followed up.

“Enchanted or not, it’s still heavy,” you said as you orientated your body to the extra weight of the bat. Concern for George began to rise within you. Getting hit with a Bludger just right would be enough to break any bone in his body. 

“That’s why Beaters have to have a good sense of balance,” George continued. You had a newfound respect for the skill set required to play Quidditch. 

“And your mum approves of you and Fred playing?”

Briefly taken aback by the trepidation in your voice, George answered. “With seven children, Quidditch is a godsend to her. It’s a good outlet too.”

As you came upon the Quidditch pitch, the early morning fog had burned off. You could make out the trademark red uniforms of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and its six team members, minus George. Your presence garnered nods of approval from the team but made Oliver Wood do a double take. He strode up to George. 

“What’s she doing here?” Oliver questioned sincerely. “She’s a Ravenclaw,” Oliver stated, as if your house had escaped George’s notice, “and our Quidditch training sessions are not open to other houses.” He was exasperated. 

“Does she look like she’s going to report our plays to the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?” George questioned which did offend you in the least. 

Oliver eyed you before he said a terse “No.” The Gryffindor Captain turned to face the rest of the team. “Alright, listen up! Everybody in the air, we’re gonna start with some defensive plays.”

George straddled his broomstick, feet almost touching the pitch below. “Get on and I’ll give you a ride up to the stands,” he said, extending his hand out to you. 

“No thanks,” you said rather to quickly to deter a follow-up question from George. 

“Are you sure? It’s a long way up there on foot?”

Thankfully Fred interjected before you had to answer. “Can’t say I blame her, I wouldn’t want to fly with you either.”

As you watched the twins’ sore high above the pitch you were reminded all too well of your fear of flying. 

When you finally took your seat, the Gryffindor training match was well underway. Oliver circled around the second goalpost defensively kicking a shot out of the way. One of the Chasers caught the Quaffle with one outstretched hand and shot up in a near vertical climb before passing it to another Chaser. They were trying to align with the goalpost when a loud crack reverberated through the air, forcing the Chasers to pull back on their brooms. It was George who sent the Bludger towards his teammates. He dipped below the goalposts, following the trajectory of the ball. The Chasers regrouped, circling the Quidditch pitch before flying in a V formation towards the goalposts. They kept passing the Quaffle back and forth forcing Oliver to predict who would ultimately throw it. Suddenly, two Bludgers soared upwards, once again forcing the Chasers to break formation leaving only one for Oliver to focus on. He easily blocked the shot. He called time and Fred and George circled up from the bottom of the pitch, high-fiving each other mid-air. 

With the team stationary in the air, you realized just how clenched your body was. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Quidditch was fast-paced and filled you with a sense of exhilaration just from watching it. Your eyes focused on George who was readjusting his flying gloves. He was like a completely different person while in the air. There was no hesitation in his hits and yet they were calculated. Even with the little knowledge you possessed of the game, you knew this was a valuable trait to have in a Beater. What you noticed the most, however, was the easiness with which he flew. His broom was like an extension of himself on which he could perform any number of death-defying maneuvers on. 

After about another hour, George angled his broomstick over to where you sat in the stands. “Wait here, I’ll be up in a minute,” he looked over his shoulder to ensure Oliver was not within earshot, “Oliver is going to tell us how poorly we played today to keep us ‘humble,’” George said with a wink. 

Within minutes he appeared again, trading his broom for a seat next to you. There was a gentle autumnal breeze in the air that pushed your hair back ever so slightly. 

“That was stunning,” you told him. You meant it too. 

He smiled at you, “I may make a hardcore Quidditch fan out of you yet.”

“The way you fly is-”

“Criminal,” he interrupted. You shook your head at him. 

“What does it feel like?” your body angled towards him, “flying, I mean.”

“You know-,” George paused, understanding the full meaning of your words. “You’ve never flown before, have you?” 

“I have flown before,” you corrected him, “just not ever since.” 

Rather than ask you why, George did something even better: he offered to take you for a ride. “Like Quidditch, flying is better experienced than learned about indirectly.” He interlaced his hand with yours. “We’ll do it together.”

-

You were once again on the Quidditch pitch, except this time it would be you who would take to the sky. 

“Flying,” George explained, “is as much about restraint as it is about release. If you try to restrain the movements of the broom too much you won’t really be flying. At some point, you have to relinquish some control and just go.”

He straddled the broom, keeping it steady. “It’s one fluid motion, just swing your legs over and leave the rest to me.”

You inhaled deeply, one breath for courage you reasoned. On the exhale, you swung your legs over the broom, making it shift from one side to the other. George quickly stabilized the broom but your hands remained firmly fixed around the front end, already turning red from your strength. 

“You’re doing great, way better than I did when I was first learning how to fly,” George said reassuringly. 

“How so?” you managed to ask. 

“I didn’t think far enough ahead so when I went to dismount I realized I didn’t know how.”

“And?” you asked, muffling a laugh. 

“And, my dad had to climb up on the roof to get me.” This time you laughed. “For the record, Fred broke his arm trying to get off his broom for the first time.”

You two were already level with the goalposts Oliver had defended earlier in training. “You want to circle the pitch?” he asked, waiting for you to assent. 

You nodded, leaning back into him for support as you began to circle the pitch, picking up speed incrementally. A smile began to develop on your face. 

“Can we go a little faster?” you questioned.

“Your wish is my command.” True to his words, you accelerated forward. Your hair billowed behind you and your hands began to loosen their grip. You could feel George’s muscles flex slightly at each turn of the broom. 

After a few more times around the pitch, George whispered in your ear. “Do you trust me?”

“Fully,” you said without hesitation. 

Suddenly, he dived to the right before coming out of it, creating a loop. His left arm tightened around you while his other steered, bringing you parallel to the ground once again. 

“Wow,” you said.

“Wow,” George repeated. 

After a few more Weasley maneuvers, you were back on the ground. “Thank you,” you said, leaning in to kiss him. 

He pulled you closer. “The pleasure is all mine. We can make this a date you know, same time next week?”

You looked up at him. “First you have a match to win.”

He replaced your house scarf with his Gryffindor one, tying it gently around your neck, “We have a match to win.”

-

Today was the match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor or “Brains versus Brawns” as the students comically called it. Both were equally matched with Gryffindor having a slightly better defense, or so George had told you during one of your Quidditch rulebook lessons. Hogwarts students streamed down the Grand Staircase and out towards the pitch. This time a different Weasley family member was waiting for you at the Entrance Hall: Ginny. 

“I love the outfit,” she said knowingly. You wore George’s Quidditch jumper, its maroon red offset by the golden stripe in the center, in addition to the scarf he had tied around you yesterday. His smoky scent lingered on both items of clothing. Ginny was wearing the same outfit with the addition of a beanie. “Likewise,” you returned, the both of you smiling. 

Like the morning before, the sky was overcast but not to the point that it would interfere with the match. Despite this, you were nervous. It was not that you didn’t have faith in George’s skill set, but that you had too much of it. His style of play was so aggressive that you knew he would risk a broken bone for a perfect play.

Almost ready to file up the stairs leading up to the stands you heard George’s familiar voice calling your name from the pitch. His stature coupled with his distinctive red hair made him easy to locate in a crowd. His hand made a beckoning motion. Ginny rolled her eyes in sisterly disgust: “Go,” she said, “I’ll save you a seat.”

A few moments later and you were in the Gryffindor team room. The eyes of Oliver Wood seemed to be omnipresent in the room despite him and the other members of the team still putting on their uniforms on the other side of the wall. 

“Breaking the rules again,” you chirped. 

“Some are worth breaking,” he responded, “especially when I get to do this.” He took you softly by the lips, smiling into them. You still felt fluttery every time he kissed you. 

“Red is your color,” he said softly so only you could hear him, trailing his hand along your scarf. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” you said, brushing a piece of red hair that had fallen on his forehead back.

“Players on the pitch in five minutes!” Lee Jordan, the commentator, boomed from outside the team room. 

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to kiss George again. “That’s for good luck.” You turned to go. “Knock them out of the sky,” you added, your voice suddenly menacing. 

-

You found Ginny in the stands easily. On the right side of the pitch was a sea of red and gold and on the left blue and glistening bronze reigned. While house allegiance was fostered at Hogwarts you had a vested interest in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Students had begun to drum the seats in anticipation, creating a deafening sound. Suddenly, the two teams took to the pitch. Both sides roared with cheers, your voice blending into the many. Both team captains approached Madam Hooch, the referee, shook hands and returned to their respective teams. The two teams mounted their brooms on either side of Hooch. The whistle blew and the teams shot up to playing altitude. Silence overtook the stands before Lee Jordan’s voice announced the beginning of the match. 

“Gryffindor is slow to give chase as Ravenclaw Chaser Roger Davies is in possession of the Quaffle-” 

Davies broke left, avoiding Angelina Johnson’s head dive. Oliver guarded the leftmost goalpost when Davies hit the Quaffle with his foot to another Ravenclaw Chaser who pushed it through the goalpost. 

“That fancy footwork earns Ravenclaw ten points!” The left side erupted in cheers, scoring first was always good for house morale. 

“Angelina Johnson is in possession of the Quaffle and has a score to settle-,” She was immensely fast, flying straight towards the center goalpost. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the blur of a Bludger coming up on her side. Your nails dug into your arm when, equally as fast, George came up from the bottom of the pitch, deflecting the Bludger towards the opposition. 

“Excellent defense by Weasley! Which Weasley; however, remains to be known- “

You knew; however, as George flashed you a wink before jutting forward again. 

“Game tied as Johnson puts it in unopposed!” A roar shook the stands. 

The Quaffle moved from one team to the other with Bludgers interspersed to upset the pace. George trailed Katie Bell, who was in procession of the Quaffle, to provide defence. The Ravenclaw Beaters aligned themselves on either side of George sending a Bludger directly towards him. You shot up in your seat only to see George flying upside-down before sending the Bludger right back.

“And Ronan is spiraling out of control- “ 

The sound in the stands was deafening. “LET’S GO!” you shouted, surprising both Ginny and yourself. 

Gryffindor was now in the lead with twenty more points than your house. With the Chasers holding their own, Fred and George turned their attention to the Ravenclaw Seeker. Cho Chang was outmaneuvering the twins by flying intricate looping circles so they could never get a clear shot. Passing a Bludger between them, the twins seemed to change tactics sending the ball upwards. The twins were on a collision course before they both stopped abruptly in front of the ball, hitting it at the same time. The Ravenclaw Seeker seemed to be frozen in time as the Bludger hurled towards her with the power of not one but two Beaters behind it. 

“You’ve seen it here first, a perfectly executed Dopplebeater Defense by Weasley and Weasley- “

A loud crack sounded from Cho Chang’s broom as she crashed down on the pitch. With the Ravenclaw Seeker out there would be no surprise upset and the Gryffindor side of the stand knew this. A wave of hands flew up in the air. Across the pitch, Ravenclaw was despondent. 

After a couple more times up and down the pitch, Gryffindor emerged victorious. Your hands hurt from clapping so much. The seven members of the Gryffindor team hovered above the pitch, basking in the afterglow of a hard-won victory and drawing shouts of praise from the crowd. 

As the crowd began to dissipate you waited outside the team room, your back to the door. A moment later and George’s arms wrapped around your waist in an embrace. His chest was still slightly heaving due to the exertion of the match. He craned his neck so he could see your face. 

“What’s your final judgement? Do you like it?” he asked. 

“How could I not!” you quickly replied, “the way you hit the Bludger towards Davies in the beginning and that final double play you and Fred pulled off-” You were narrating the entire match for him and he was letting you.

“Ginny told me about your outbursts in the stands, I heard you got creative in the end,” George said emphasizing the word “creative.”

Color tinged your cheeks. “Well,” you paused, “I may have gotten caught up in the moment.”

George pressed his lips into the crook of your neck. “Oliver said this is the best I’ve ever played.”

You believed him. 

“I think it’s because I knew you were watching,” he said thoughtfully. 

“Guess I’ll have to come to the next match,” you said, “After all, I wouldn’t want to disrupt Gryffindor’s winning streak.”

“Is that the only reason?” George said insinuatingly, before throwing you over his shoulder. He spun you around a couple of times drawing laughter from both of you before setting you down once again. 

“I love you,” he said, capturing your hand.

“Me too.” You could get used to having a Quidditch player for a boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> J.K. Rowling is a vile human being who invalidates the identity of transgender people. If you can, consider donating to transgender organizations like the Transgender Legal Defense & Education Fund or Trans Lifeline, while continuing to enjoy the magic of Harry Potter.


End file.
